


D-18363 Foundation Journal

by BeanHitchhiker



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Exploration of D-Class peeps, Gen, Goes into the psyche and shit, i think entirely original characters?, not much in the way of romance tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-11-18 23:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanHitchhiker/pseuds/BeanHitchhiker
Summary: Life in prison was supposed to be the end of the road, a meaningless life, one wasted. An offer by an SCP Agent changes that for Michael, soon to be D-18363.He receives a journal from the Foundation and begins to document his experiences there, the SCPs, the testing, and the other D-Class he comes to know.





	1. Day One

I got this journal from the Foundation, so I suppose I should write in it. Do they want us to write in this? Are they going to read it later? Probably ~~~~

My old name is Michael Harris. My new name is D-18363. It feels so impersonal, makes me think of old Nazi camps. I suppose we aren’t really supposed to be people here, the batshit professor doing the orientation didn’t really treat us like we were.

I suppose I should get my thoughts out?

I’m at a place called the ‘SCP Foundation’, whatever that stands for. I was in prison for life. A guy came up to me, said I could get out, only had to do a few months of community service, show my nation I cared. Obviously, I fucking jumped. It’s a worse deal than he made it out to be, that’s for sure,

I might die soon, if I’m thinking honestly. The scientist telling us about our new situation said so many terrifying things. That the last group of D-Class, they lost twelve people. He said that we would probably die, just flat out, and then started laughing his ass off. Asshole.

But, no time for that. Gotta stay positive, 63!

I’m in a room with three other D-Class guys, two bunkbeds, we all share a dresser (I think they separated us out on who all had the same shoe and jumpsuit size). There’s D-10147 (Formerly Jeremiah Smith), he’s got a thick beard going that I think they’re gonna have him shave, and he’s pretty tall. Then there’s D-29178 (Formerly Kurt Harris), he’s lanky and gaunt, looks like a wind could dismantle him. Finally, there’s D-56910 (Formerly Anthony Hogg). He seems kind of skittish, but in a dangerous way. Like if you move weird around him, he’s ready to stab. Since we all have different ending to our IDs, we go by that. I’m 63 now, friends with 47, 78, and 10.

I’m gonna miss my old name.

Whatever.

The new clothes are a garish orange, and the rest of the facility (from what I see) is mostly just monochrome whites and blacks. The doctors wear white coats and black slacks, the janitors wear white shirts and dark pants, it feels like we’re wearing these jumpsuits so they can stare at us as we walk down the hallway, thinking to themselves, _that’s a D-Class_.

This whole place gives me chills, too, it’s so cold, impersonal. And what’s behind those walls? Some of them look thick, you don’t even have to look at the sides of them, you can just tell from how they sit. It’s unsettling. The guy who recruited me, he wasn’t too up-front about what kinda work I’d be doing.

The crazy researcher who let us know the gist of what we’d be doing here wasn’t all that open, either, but I feel like I’m going to die before I’ve done all my service hours and it’ll be a joke to them.

They’re calling us for dinner now. I wonder what it’ll be?

Bye.

\- ~~micha~~  63


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions with few answers, a few new characters, and a new fleshing out. 
> 
> What goes on behind closed doors?

I made a friend. I think. His name is D-96761.

He’s quiet but nice, maybe we’ll enjoy each other’s company. I don’t know.

Oh, I found out that there’s three people permanently working with us, and I even got their names! We’ve got Mr. Ness, Ms. Richardson, and Mrs. Toven. When I asked Ness and Richardson what they did here, they got angry at me and told me to get back in line for food, so I think they might be our guards and stuff, keeping the peace and whatnot. They have different uniforms from the other guards, at least. Toven seems nicer, but acts unsettled by D-Class. She’s a janitor.

Meals here aren’t too bad, but it reminds me a bit of high school food. Today seems to be mostly us trying to fit in, finding the schedule they have us on. I’ve heard from some of the other D-Class that someone said if we behave, we get to have coffee or candy, or time on the internet.

47 had to shave his beard today, and I kinda feel bad for him. He looks different now, holds himself more strangely. Looks like he’s not right in his body. Is he religious? Or how long has he had the beard for?

I’m starting to realize 78, despite how gangly and awkward he looks, is super charismatic. He’s sweet, knows his way with words, even got himself some extra chicken today at lunch! He’s pretty cool and smart, and I kind of wonder how he ever ended up in prison. He’s the kind of guy you automatically assume the best from.

78 seems like he could slip out of a ‘guilty’ a lot easier than the rest of us. He plays people like fiddles, keys with heartstrings on the level of Mozart. You kind of have to love him. It makes me wonder what he did to deserve a life or death sentence. Was it so bad that they had to incarcerate him? He’s smart enough not to leave evidence.

Despite the guards crawling through the D-Class halls, I wonder if he’ll try anything. He might be able to get out of it relatively unharmed and unpunished, and I’m thinking about maybe making something to defend myself with. Although, that might come in handy more later.

I’ve heard rumors, from the few of us who saw their first SCP (‘skip’?) in the day and a half we’ve been here. They whisper about the terrible shit behind those thick, thick walls, not really saying much. The scientists tell us we have to keep it all confidential and stuff like that, but really, nobody’s lips are sealed. They said they’re wiping our memories when we get out of here, anyways, so what’s really the point?

The whispers say things like this: Sharp teeth, strange images, hallucinations and weird garden paths.

The worst rumor I’ve heard, though, is this: The ‘D’ in D-Class stands for Disposable.

 

Will I die in here?

I don’t think they read this thing, but. How deep does this shit go? How often do the D-Class die? What do they make us see? Is the memory-wiping bullshit for how classified they are, or for us, so we don’t go insane from the shit they show us here?

 

-63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So posting schedule has like a 65% chance of being wacky. I have random access to ao3 because I can’t usually be on it. I’ll work on this as much as possible!
> 
> I have no betas yet, so if you notice anything wrong in the fic (punctuation, grammar, thought process, etc) please say something! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Okay so notes seem to be off so I might now have these for the next few chapters or whatever? Sorry, I’m still getting the hang of ao3 so they’ll be there eventually


	3. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D-18363 meets his first SCP  
> Rumors, rumors, are all he has heard until now, soft whispers of the things devils can do. Are they true?

[SCP-2458](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2458)... Addendum 2458-1: Experiment Log... Experiment 2458-Q

...

...

ACCESS GRANTED

...

...

Player: D-7294

Listeners: D-91045, D-2012, D-18363, D-927

Work: The Four Seasons: Spring

Results: The listeners dance in circular patterns and making similar, erratic movements with both arms and legs. Approximately four minutes into the test, D-18363 and D-2012 began to act erratically, breaking from the dance to attack D-91045 and D-927. At five minutes, D-927 began assisting D-2012 in the removal of her eyes, and D-18363 began to consume D-91045’s neck. D-7294 was instructed to stop playing. They complied.

D-927 was blinded, and D-91045 was placed in critical care. As of writing, likeliness of expiration is low.

* * *

 

**D-18363’s Private Journal**

 

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

hands won’t stop shaking

stopstopstopstop

I hurt somebody

There. I wrote it down, I fucking hurt someone. I didn’t mean to, there was this instrument, a cello maybe? Shit, was does the instrument matter. I think about it. I didn’t mean to hurt them. I didn’t. It was haunted, something like that. I couldn’t control myself, I didn’t mean to.

But. So.

We’re brought to a room, and there’s someone, another D-Class, with a cello. There’s four of us in total, two men and two women. We dance for a bit. I don’t mean to dance, one minute I’m sitting in a metal chair, five seconds later, I’m dancing in a circle with them. We chant some, move some, etc. I was freaked, of course, scared even, but I thought that was it. A cello that made you dance, doesn’t seem that bad. Then we hit something like five minutes, and my mind blanks.

It was everything and nothing, the sensation. The music made me do it, I’m sure.

Me and one of the girls stops dancing. We separate from the group, wait for a couple seconds. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for. Then we weren’t waiting anymore.

I can still taste her blood fuck

I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to. It made me, it made me. How much worse will it get? What will I have to do? My first day, I fucking killed hurt someone. What else is here? Is this hell?

I should’ve stayed for life. 

* * *

 

Interview Log: D-18363-1

Date: January █, 20██

Interviewer: Dr. Noata

Interviewee: D-18363

Notes: The reason for interview is evaluation of D-18363’s psyche, and to test how the effects of SCP-2458 affected them.

[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Noata: So, D-18363, how are you?

D-18363: Did I kill her?

Dr. Noata: Please answer the question.

D-18363: Fuck. I’m fine, perfectly okay. What happened to her? Is she okay? I know you’re a doctor, you’ve gotta know!

Dr. Noata: Would you please describe the effects of SCP-2458?

D-18363: The cello? (Dr. Noata nods) Hell. It was scary. I didn’t mean to, you know. I didn’t want to hurt her. It made me. That fucking cello made me. It made us dance. It was like you couldn’t control yourself, I swear. I didn’t wanna hurt her, I mean it. She. She didn’t even defend herself, did she? Did that fucking cello do that?

Dr. Noata: Causing erratic actions among listeners is among SCP-2458’s anomalous properties, yes.

D-18363: Did I kill her? I didn’t. Right? I couldn’t have. That’s. I can’t kill someone like that.

Dr. Noata: I’m afraid I’m not able to disclose that information currently.

[END LOG]

* * *

 

**Addition Made Post-Interview by D-18363 to their Private Journal**

 

(Overlapping, indescribable words, taking up approximately a page and a half precede the entry)

I’m almost certain they’re reading my journal now. I mean, yeah, I was probably bothered that I killed hurt somebody, but I was in life for a reason. They have to know I’m unstable about it.

I still wish I could apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update!!!!! Yay!!! I hope it was okay, angst REALLY started this chapter. Strap in for psychological pain!!!  
> This SCP was inspired by Fleshcube World’s art on tumblr!  
> I hope it was good! Once again, no betas, so if there’s any trouble,,,, I’m begging you, tell me! Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Day Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not wholly certain that the posted and then deleted Day Four actually posted, but if it did, I’d like to apologize.  
> It was rushed and sloppy and a product of no self-editing, over stressing, and forcing myself to post a chapter I didn’t like.  
> I’ll be more careful about it in the future, and know that no matter how long chapters may take to post, they won’t be deleted.

I’m shaking while I write this.

I’m in a janitors closet, I think. There’s just enough of a mix of cleaning supplies and scientific instruments to be confusing.

There’s a lot of red light right now, and it’s flashing some, so my handwritings shit right now. Also, my hand hurts like hell.

I think that a Containment Breach, I’ve heard a guard or another D or something mention them, is happening. And here I was, thinking that would never happen, the Foundation is all-controlling and all-intelligent. 

Fuck, my hand hurts.

~~ There was this guy ~~

It was a man. He looked like he used to have nice, thick, blond hair. It could’ve been the kind supermodels have. He was Caucasian, from what I could see of his skin, and he moved like he was liquid on the inside.

He was wearing a jumpsuit like mine. He was a D-Class like me.

I could’ve been him. 

He was wearing this [mask](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-035), the tragedy drama mask. It was crying a weird liquid, something that I have elected to call forbidden barbecue sauce instead of deadly, poisonous, corrosive blood. Look at me, already using humor as a crappy coping mechanism. I’m so proud of myself.

He was talking, but it sounded strange and I was too panicked to listen. I ran down these concrete halls, I ran while adrenaline flooded my veins, I ran and didn’t look at the things looming in the shadows. Hell, my side still hurts. So now I’m here.

Hiding in a closet.

What SCPs are out there in those halls, looking for me? Looking for _us_ , looking for every forsaken D-Class and self-important scientist.

Are they hungry?

Do they want revenge? 

The mask thing, I think it was yelling, it seemed to be so angry at me, so joyous when its acid hit my skin and burned. Why?

One upside to this whole situation, I guess, is that I’ll have a cool scar to show off when I get out of here. 

I never really got the logistics of that, too be honest. How will they completely erase my memories? The scars? The story of how I got out, how will they cover up what I did? What all of these hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of people have done?

It all seems so improbable.

But I’ve got to put my faith in it. Because if they don’t let me out of here in twenty six days, what else do I have left? Do they sacrifice me to those creatures, ‘terminate’ me, cull me?

If I don’t trust them then death is the only option. And that’s no way to live.

But that’s like with her. If I killed her.

How many days from freedom was she? Was she counting down the days like I was, looking over memories of the people she used to love before metal and concrete and egregiously orange jumpsuits?

Did she deserve to possibly die by my hands, to be scarred like that? Do any of us really?

I’m confusing myself again, tying myself up in mental knots and mysteries. Always did that before jail, before here.

I think I’m going to look for food or a more comfortable place to hide, and then go to sleep.

-63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I hope this was good, and that all the grammar checks out. Regretfully, still no betas.  
> I’m kind of satisfied with this chapter and how it turned out, so hopefully you feel the same way.  
> School will be ending soon, so with any luck and some cooperation from my brain, chapters will be coming out in better quality and more often that they are currently.  
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated!  
> Also- I know most of you probably already know 035, but I decided to link the article anyways.


	5. Day Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 63 has found a new friend within the Foundation, and seems to have reached stability in the chaos of a containment breach.  
> Will peace last past the breach? Will friendship waver?

Me and D-96761, that guy who I met on my second day, are hiding out in the actual Foundation cafeteria right now. I met up with him in a supply closet. I had check in to see if there were any supplies or potential weapons, and there he was. Half soaked in blood and wielding a sharpened broom handle. I suppose he’s more self-sufficient than me.

He started when I came in, before recognizing me and grinning manically. He took my hand, said he had to fight off an SCP, told me that we were gonna get along great.

It’s been an hour since then. We’ve boarded up the doors to the cafeteria and have taken knives from the kitchen. There were a couple freeze-dried or microwavable meals, as well as a lot of canned food. Eating ravioli for the first time in a good while, sitting across from 61. We’ve talked a bit.

We haven’t encountered any more SCP’s yet, and it hopefully will stay that way until they’re all contained. The weirdest part about all this is how it seems like it’s only us out here. Lots of D-Class corpses but very few dead guards and practically no dead scientists. Is there a protocol for all this? Seems like there would be, seeing as how the Foundation is so strict and messed up. Bunker probably.

But why didn’t they let us D-Class know? Are we really that disposable?

I need to stop asking myself stupid questions like that. I know the Foundation doesn’t care about us or think we’re really worth anything besides experiments, but reminding myself of that fact won’t do me any good.

Wait

* * *

 

So there’s somebody else here, now. I recognize her some, have seen her around the D-Class areas. Her name tag reads Dr. Canmore, and she seems far too old to be working for a Foundation like this.

She banged on the cafeteria door some, trying to get in. I think there might’ve been something chasing behind her, but we pulled her in too quickly to notice. 61 and I have given her some food, but have mostly just kept our distances. We may be friendly for now, with a common enemy, but at the end of the day, she’s a doctor under the Foundation. She’s above us, and probably controls us. Getting close might be beneficial, but not worth the risk. Who knows how the higher-higher ups might get if they found out.

So its me and 61 in one corner, Canmore in the other.

She’s talked only to ask for food and water, explain that she was in her office when the breach happened and wasn’t able to properly get to safety.

61 and I have filled the silence by talking some. Canmore is obviously listening in, but not too hard, so it feels safe. I’ve shared some with 61, opened up a bit for the first time in a while. We talked about growing up and what our families were like. Prison and why we ended up there are a bit of a taboo subject.

61 is 32 years old, and used to be named Gavin McCaphrrey. He’s seven years older than me, and we laughed some at the age differences between the two of us. He worked on computers before the SCP Foundation, and I told him about the joys of being a construction worker. It’s nice to talk for a bit, for the first time in a while.

I told him about the girl and the cello, and he called me soft. But in like, a kind way. He meant it as a compliment, I’m pretty sure.

I’m going to try and sleep now. It’s been a long two days. I hope the next is better.

I don’t know if I should hope that the breach is contained tomorrow or not. We’re safe for now, and that seems like enough for now. We’ve got food and water, and weapons. And I’m making a friend here. When the Foundation gets its shit together, I don’t know if 61 and I will be able to see each other again.

This place is otherworldly, I guess. Too separate from reality to seem real, too real to seem like a dream.

I want to cling on to 61 for as long as I can, a small island of reality.

-63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hiatus lasted longer than I meant for it to, and I apologize for that. I let myself get lazy, as well as losing my character sheets and chapter plans for this.  
> Hopefully this was good, as I really enjoyed writing it!  
> Let me know if you spot any mistakes, and if you know of any interesting SCPs, I definitely would love to see them- I'm bad at researching/sifting through lots of articles.


	6. Day Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving just outside those walls that seem so thin now. In disaster, 63 has made a new friend, and regrets those he may never have the chance to make.

Dr.Canmore’s watch reads 9:41 right now. It’s a bit weird, writing this early in the morning. 61’s still asleep. I don't know what time he fell asleep last night, but it must've been pretty late. Canmore woke up before me, which is a bit unsettling. I know she’s not going to do anything to me, she’s probably not evil, after all, but still. She’s got a lot of power over me, and we all know the saying, ‘Power corrupts.’

Breakfast was toast and coffee. I made the coffee, Canmore the toast. We talked some over our food, but it’s obvious she’s apprehensive about talking to me. Probably a cocktail of my being a criminal and the fact that she’s a higher up in charge of me. Add in the threat of imminent death, and I guess I can see why she wouldn’t want to talk. She’s better than that last doctor who interviewed me, at least. Less of an ass.

Turns out she’s 56, too. Way too old to be running from supernatural things that want to kill you, if you ask me, but who am I to judge?

It feels like hell, here. You know you’re trapped and aren’t completely sure when you’re going to get out. You know those _things_  out there can surely get in, but for some reason haven’t. I can hear them out there, scraping and dragging and making all this noise. The doors have got tables leaning against them and are locked and everything, but will that really do anything?

Actually, they’re probably reinforced and all high-tech. I suppose the Foundation has got to be prepared for this, after all. They seem to be prepared for everything, and from what I’ve seen of their scientists and guards, they’re all control freaks and paranoid. Working with things that have a high probability of killing you must mess with your head a lot. Hell, I've only seen one very mostly not deadly cello and I've become a bit fucked in the head.

* * *

 It’s 1:19 now. 61 woke up around ten or so, and we three had a lunch of canned tomato soup. Tastes like home, or so the slogan claims.

It’s back to me and 61 in one corner and Canmore in the other. You can tell that 61 seems really paranoid about Canmore, and vise versa. He gets all jumpy around her, and is constantly eyeing her. He responds to her like every time she does something, she’s going at him with a knife. I’d bet good money that paranoia that strong is half the reason he ended up here in the first place. He’s an okay guy, though.

Canmore just eyes him a lot. I don't know why, but she trusts me a lot more. Sees 61 as a dog that's been locked up for too long and is ready to see anything as a threat. I guess if the feeling is mutual, it makes sense that the feelings probably fuel each other. One hates the other, acts accordingly, hate increases, increases incrementally. In a week or two they'll probably be a lot worse.

He seems to have a lot in common with me-We both like reading, especially a lot of classics, like Frankenstein or Flowers for Algernon. Politics, too. Similar views there. He’s talked about the first SCP he met. Says there’s this sentient computer, lots of pent-up rage. He had to interview it, just ask it a couple standard questions like ‘How are you,’ and, ‘what’s the last thing you remember?’ I didn’t tell him about the cello.

I’m better about her, but not ready to talk. There’s some problems you know, you know they exist, but they’re too big to fix right now. Baby steps. Asking me to immediately tell him about her is a lot, but writing about it, then slowly saying something, then talking about it, that’s more my speed. I’m kind of slow to heal or come to terms with things, I guess. The look in her eyes when it happened still haunt me. I’ve had nightmares, those scared, soulless eyes, staring, staring, staring. The warm taste of metal fills my mouth, transforming from blood to molten copper and burning me alive from the inside. Scrapingcello music in the background, less ‘Hauntingly beautiful cello’ and more ‘Nails on a chalkboard holy shit ow my ears.’

You know, the whole shebang.

* * *

 

We’re crouched in a closet right now. Canmore had us move. It’s 5:04 now.

Alarms went off earlier, something started pushing at one of the doors to the cafeteria. We bolted when Canmore made us. 61 almost didn’t go, but I think he went because of me.

There’s a lot more action out there now. We’re all crouched in the dark by the door. Lights filtered underneath. Shadows running back and forth, some human, some not. Gunshots here and there. Groans, screams, wet slurping sounds occasionally, that you don’t want to think too deeply about.

Canmore claims that now that the guards are back and the alarms are sounding again, we should be safe and sleeping safely in our beds tonight. I thought asked why the guards took so long, and she said something about how the power was out last night, there were no lights, etc. etc. I guess 61 and I didn't notice the power was out because we didn't bother turning the lights on in the cafeteria. 

There was an announcement just now. Lots of jargon I don’t quite understand, but the gist of it is: Safety soon!! Don’t die yet please!!!!! I’m going to spend the rest of my time talking to and hugging 61 for if I don’t get to see him again. I probably won’t write again. Hope to sleep in a bed tonight. Hope that 47, 78, and 10 made it through the last couple days. I never really got to know them too well, but maybe if they survived?

I’ll regret it, if they died. Maybe they were piece of shit human beings, but that’s a piece of shit I never got to be irritated by, right?

-63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m happy to have updated again so recently! My mental health has been really good lately, and I’m working on a computer again so I’m feeling really good.  
> Insomnia’s been getting to me, but sleep schedule is normalizing.  
> Sorry to all my readers that updates have been so weird, and thank you so much for reading.


	7. Hey

I’m not going to update again, here at least, probably.  
I feel like the story is useless and I’m writing shit. Sorry if you actually likes this? I just never saw as I posted new chapters more kudos or comments, and I decided this isn’t worth the effort anymore.  
That isn’t an effort to get pity comments or kudos or whatever, it’s just how it is. I base the quality of my work on the response it garners, and if response goes down, I assume it’s bad.  
Adios


End file.
